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"We didn't really know," I said. "Oh, we knew of the Théâeatre des Vampires, yes, and we knew that the players weren't
human. As for you and Claudia, it was more or less the supposition of a lone investigator that you were connected. And
when you abandoned everything in your hotel, when you were seen leaving Paris one evening in the company of another
vampire, we moved in cautiously to purchase all that you'd left behind."
He accepted this quietly. Then he spoke up.
"Why did you never try to harm or expose the vampires of the theater?" he asked.
"We would have been laughed at if we'd tried to expose them," I said. "Besides, that is simply not what we do. Louis,
we've never really talked of the Talamasca. For me, it's like speaking of a country to which I've become a traitor. But
surely you must understand, the Talamasca watches, truly watches, and counts its own survival over the centuries as its
primary goal."
There was a brief pause. His face was composed and appeared only a little sad.
"So Claudia's clothing, well, Merrick will have it when she returns."
"Insofar as we took ownership of it, yes. I myself am not certain what's in the vault." I stopped. I had once brought
Lestat a present from the vault. But I'd been a man then. I could not conceive of trying to rob the Talamasca of anything
just now.
"I've often wondered about those archives," Louis said. Then again in the most tender voice: "I've never wanted to ask.
It's Claudia I want to see, not those things which we left behind."
"I understand your meaning."
"But it counts for magic, doesn't it?" he asked.
"Yes. You'll understand that better perhaps when I tell you about Merrick."
"What do you want me to know about Merrick?" he asked earnestly. "I'm eager to hear it. You told me last night about
your first meeting. You told me how she'd showed you the daguerreotypes ."
"Yes, that was the very first encounter. But there is much, much more. Remember what I said last night. Merrick is a
magician of sorts, a witch, a veritable Medea, and we can be as overwhelmed by magic as any earthly creature can."
"My desires are singular and pure," Louis said. "I only want to see Claudia's ghost."
I couldn't help but smile. I think I wounded him. I was immediately sorry.
"Surely you must recognize some danger is opening the way to the supernatural," I insisted. "But let me tell you what I
know of Merrick, what I feel I can tell."
I began to recount to him my recollections in order.
Only a few days after Merrick had come to Oak Haven, some twenty years ago, Aaron and I had set out with Merrick to
drive to New Orleans and to visit Merrick's Great Nananne.
My memories were vivid.
The last cool days of spring had passed and we were plunged into a hot and damp weather, which, loving the tropics as I
did, and do, had been very pleasing to me. I had no regrets about having left London at all.
Merrick still had not revealed to us the day of Great Nananne's death as it had been confided to her by the old woman.
And Aaron, though he'd been the personage in the dream who gave the fatal date to Great Nananne, had no knowledge
whatever of this dream.
Though Aaron had prepared me for the old section of New Orleans to which we were going, I had nevertheless been
astonished to see the neighborhood of tumbledown houses of all different sizes and styles, steeped in its overgrown
oleander, which bloomed profusely in the moist heat, and most surprised of all to come upon the old raised cottage of a
house which belonged to Great Nananne.
The day, as I've said, was close and warm, with violent and sudden showers of rain, and though I have been a vampire
now for five years, I can vividly remember the sunshine coming through the rain to strike the narrow broken pavements,
and everywhere the weeds rising out of gutters which were in fact no more than open ditches, and the snarls of oak and
rain tree, and cottonwood, which sprang up all around us as we made our way to the residence which Merrick was now to
leave behind.
At last we came to a high iron picket fence, and a house much larger than those around it, and of much earlier date.
It was one of those Louisiana houses which stands upon brick foundation post pillars of about five feet in height, with a
central wooden stair rising to its front porch. A row of simple square pillars held up its Greek Revival porch roof, and the
central door was not unlike the grander doors of Oak Haven in that it had a small fanlight intact above.
Long windows went from floor to ceiling on the front of the house, but these were all pasted over with newspaper,
which made the house look derelict and uninhabited. The yew trees, stretching their scrawny limbs to Heaven on either
side of the front porch, added a note of grimness, and the front hall into which we entered was empty and shadowy,
though it went clear through to an open door at the back. There were no stairs to the attic, and an attic there must have
been, I conjectured, for the main body of the house had a deeply pitched roof. Beyond that rear open door all was tangled
and green.
The house was three rooms in depth from front to back, giving it six rooms in all on the main floor, and in the first of
these, to the left of the hallway, we found Great Nananne, under a layer of handsewn quilts in an old plantation
four-poster, without a canopy, of simple mahogany design. I say plantation bed when I refer to this species of furniture
because the pieces are so huge, and so often crammed into small city rooms that one immediately envisions more space in
the country for which this kind of furnishing must have been designed. Also, the mahogany posts, though artfully tapered,
were otherwise plain.
As I looked at the little woman, dried-up upon the heavily stained pillow, her frame completely invisible beneath the
worn quilts, I thought for a moment she was dead.
In fact, I could have sworn by all I knew of spirits and humans that the dried little body in the bed was empty of its soul.
Maybe she'd been dreaming of death and wanted it so badly she'd left her mortal coil for but a few moments.
But when little Merrick stood in the doorway, Great Nananne came back, opening her small crinkled and yellow eyes.
Her ancient skin had a beautiful gold color to it, faded though she must have been. Her nose was small and flat, and her
mouth fixed in a smile. Her hair was wisps of gray.
Electric lamps, quite shabby and makeshift, were the only illumination save for a wealth of candles on an immense
nearby shrine. I could not quite make out the shrine, as it seemed shrouded in dimness, being against the papered shut
windows of the front of the house. And the people drew my attention at first.
Aaron brought up an old cane-backed chair, to sit beside the woman in the bed.
The bed reeked of sickness and urine.
I saw that newspapers and large brilliantly colored Holy Pictures papered all of the decaying walls. Not a bit of plaster
was left bare save for the ceiling, which was full of cracks and chipped paint and seemed a threat to us all. Only the side
windows had their curtains, but much glass was broken out and here and there newspaper patches had been applied.
Beyond loomed the eternal foliage.
"We'll bring nurses for you, Great Nananne," said Aaron, in a kindly and sincere voice. "Forgive me that it took me so
long to come." He leant forward. "You must trust in me implicitly. We'll send for the nurses as soon as we leave you this
afternoon."
"Come?" asked the old woman sunk down into the feather pillow. "Did I ever ask you either of you to come?" She
had no French accent. Her voice was shockingly ageless, low in pitch and strong. "Merrick, sit by me here for a little
while, chérie," she said. "Be still, Mr. Lightner. Nobody asked you to come."
Her arm rose and fell like a branch on the breeze, so lifeless in shape and color, fingers curled as they scratched at [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]